You Can't Choose What Stays and What Fades Away
by ThePaintedScorpionDoll
Summary: There are lots of things Finn Hudson wishes he did not remember, and most of them involve Kurt Hummel.
1. It Just Feels Good, and That's No Sin

"_We're at our best when it's from our hips...  
__From our hips we don't give a shit  
__**It just feels good, and that's no sin.  
**__It's the only way to feel alive,  
__The closest thing to being born again.  
__And when baby comes, it's job well done!  
__A roll in the hay, a roll around the sun…"_

* * *

There are lots of things Finn Hudson wishes he did not remember, and most of them involve Kurt Hummel.

It isn't so much that Finn wants to forget that Kurt exists, per se. That would be impossible, seeing as they're family by marriage and, in most respects, they _are_ good friends. But if there was a pill that could make him forget certain memories of his choosing, or if there was a procedure like the kind in that movie Rachel loves so much, Finn Hudson would be first in line because there are lots of things he wants to forget—most of which _just __happen_ to involve Kurt Hummel. His friend. His stepbrother.

His former lover.

Although! Although, if you asked Finn directly, he would not use that phrase himself. True, there were…_moments_ between them, moments in which they…did things…_together_…but saying they were lovers is a bit too much. It's too weighty a word.

Saying they were lovers seems to Finn to imply the presence of emotion of some kind.

It was never like that. He knows that now. Not even the first interaction had any sort of emotion in it. And oh, does Finn remember the first time it happened.

It was innocent. Harmless, really. They were sitting on the couch, possibly watching television or maybe doing homework. To be honest, he can't really recall _what_ they were doing or talking about in the moments leading up to the first time—though remembering might help to explain the _why_ and _how_ portions of its occurrence—but for some reason, Kurt's face was impossibly close to his. Invading his personal space. Bursting his personal bubble. In the past, such a thing would've made Finn hastily backpedal while asking what the hell the other boy was doing. He would have, at the very least, given his future stepbrother the kind of look that would make Kurt bashful enough to apologize or fumble through some excuse.

That day, though, Finn did neither of those things. Instead, he found himself caught on the vibrant color of Kurt's eyes and how, at this distance, they seemed to to remind him of the ocean—of how the ocean isn't necessarily one color but constantly shifting through several depending on the day or weather. Kurt's eyes were—well, they still are—just as expressive, if not more so, but on that particular day, Finn had trouble determining just what (if any) sort of emotion was coming through them.

Though, Finn figures now, the trouble he had might have had to do with the fact that he was busy putting a quick kiss on the other boy's lips.

At first, he wasn't entirely sure he had done it. He was certain the idea had popped into his head for some inexplicable reason, but there was surely no way he had actually _kissed Kurt Hummel_! But when he realized that Kurt was staring at him wide-eyed from the other end of the couch (with a speed Finn still cannot account for), fingers touching his almost always flushed lips, the reality of his action could not be denied. He had done it. Finn Hudson had kissed Kurt Hummel. And he didn't even really know why.

Even now, he has no idea why. It wasn't as though he had ever looked at Kurt before then and felt any attraction. Even in the time afterward, the idea of being intimate with another boy did nothing for Finn except maybe creep him out a little and confuse him greatly. His greatest fantasies still thrived on his assumptions of what Rachel Berry looked like naked.

Still, now and then, Finn would catch himself focusing on Kurt's lips as he spoke. Why were they always so flushed? What did they feel like? Taste like? It increasingly troubled Finn that not only could he not recall, he wanted to know almost as much as he wanted to know what Rachel looked like under her clothes.

Maybe it was only inevitable, then, that it happened again—only this time, it was a slightly more conscious, calculated maneuver on Finn's part.

It was a while after Burt and Carole got married. The two of them had the house to themselves, given the responsibility of manning the fort for the weekend while the couple went off to enjoy some sort of mini-vacation. Somehow, for some reason, the two were in Finn's room and they were arguing. Finn's memory fails him when it comes to remembering the topic, but he remembers the two of them standing in his bedroom, Kurt closer to the doorway—still dressed in his Dalton uniform. He remembers thinking how strange it was for Kurt to be yelling at him. It wasn't that he had never seen the boy angry. It was just that, when he was angry, there was a tendency to withdraw. Anger came out of Kurt in backhanded compliments or dagger-filled looks.

Finn can't remember what they were arguing about, sure, but he remembers how he felt. How it felt to have Kurt yelling at him. It felt bad. Disappointing. Confrontations have always been uncomfortable for Finn, and being wrapped up in this argument with his new stepbrother and friend felt like being punched in the gut. He just wanted things to be okay again. He wanted Kurt to stop being angry with him.

He wanted things to be quiet.

Maybe that's why he kissed Kurt the second time. It seemed like the only reasonable thing to do, even though it also felt wrong and invasive and like he was playing dirty.

He remembers the shocked look on Kurt's face. Even as fumbling apologies tumbled from Finn's mouth, he found himself focused on the flush of the other boy's lips; on the shine in his clear blue eyes. Kurt looked so much younger then. Smaller. Defenseless. Innocent.

_Corruptible._

But Finn tried not to think about that as he continued to fumble his way through apologizing and explaining that he had no idea what came over him, which is probably why he never quite noticed how close Kurt had gotten. Or why he never quite felt Kurt's hands at the front of his shirt. And it was also probably why he nearly fell onto the other boy when Kurt tugged him forward, back towards those flushed lips.

Which isn't to say that he _didn't_ fall on top of him eventually.

Just not in that moment.

In that moment, just as the heat was rising into Finn's face, Kurt broke away with a little shove, breathless and flushed. His blue eyes shined brightly with a mischievous light. The corners of his lips twitched upwards in a little smirk.

And then, very simply, Kurt turned and slipped out of the room. He left Finn alone in his bedroom with his racing heart and his muddled thoughts…

And something else.

Suffice to say, that was the first time Finn Hudson did not think of fucking Rachel Berry as he stroked himself to orgasm. Though she would eventually reappear in his thoughts in the days and weeks that followed, it was with less and less regularity. He had to actually work to conjure up a mental picture of her body. While it—while _she_ was still very much the queen of his desires, it was steadily impossible to ignore that someone else was sneaking in and sitting on the throne during her absences.

Hindsight says that should have made him feel uncomfortable. The possibility of being found out by _anyone_ should have been enough of a deterrent to end things there—even more so, knowing what Kurt went through just because he dared to be himself! Who wanted to be _that guy_—the one known for making out with his brother? Not his _real_ brother, sure, but technicalities like that matter little to the Teenage Hive Mind. And certainly, they would matter little to Burt and Carole…

The thought of being discovered and shamed _should_ have kept things from progressing any further.

Should, but didn't. And the third time...

Well.

To be quite fair, there was not so much a "third time" as there were lots of little "first times" after that second time.

Like, for instance, the first time Kurt crept into Finn's room well after Burt and Carole went to sleep, after Finn did his best attempt to drop a subtle hint during dinner (though, in hindsight, the hint was so blatantly obvious he might as well have thrown Kurt on the table and made out with him right then and there). Then there was the first time they made out on the living room couch while some cheesy horror flick was playing. The first time Finn let Kurt's hips grind against his was the first time he considered the possibility that this might go places he wasn't ready for (though the second time it happened, he realized he didn't mind as much if it was going to feel this good or better). The look on Kurt's face as he came just from the friction alone...

The memory of it kept Finn up fairly frequently in the days following.

The first handjob happened in the car after going to the movies. If asked, Finn would never be able to remember what film they saw, but he could easily recite the litany of shockingly filthy things that slipped from Kurt's mouth into his ear-though perhaps not without needing to excuse himself afterwards.

The first blowjob happened in Kurt's bedroom, during another weekend in which the boys had the house to themselves. Kurt made him wear a condom. To this day, Finn isn't quite sure what finally made him come-catching sight of the act reflected in Kurt's vanity mirror or the way Kurt looked up at him through his lashes as his lips busied themselves around the head of Finn's dick. If others only knew the things that someone who looked so innocent and sweet was capable of doing...or even capable of _saying_...

The first time Finn returned the favor, Kurt had to talk him through it. His hands shook as he undid Kurt's belt. It seemed to take him forever to undo the snaps, the zipper; felt like a proper fool fighting with trying to get his pants down. The press of denim against his knees left them curiously bruised red for days. It was worth every whimper and moan Kurt tried to keep in his throat, every instance his fingers wound their way into Finn's hair. The only trouble of it was how difficult it was to watch Kurt's face while getting him off—and watching him get off was half of what did it for Finn. The blush, the half-lidded stare, the press of his teeth into his bottom lip. Those were his favorite parts of these moments, the parts Finn replayed in his head the most often.

It seems strange to him now that despite all of these little meetings, they never once talked about it. Not once did they discuss the potential existence of feelings or the possible consequences of being caught. It wasn't a relationship in the Webster's sense. To even say it was a "friends with benefits" situation was pushing it. It was pure and simple lust. A physical need rather than an emotional want, something comprised of looks or gestures that spoke for them. And, really, perhaps the reason they didn't talk about what they were doing was because there didn't seem to really be a _need_ to talk about it. There seemed to be the unspoken understanding that this was something secret even while it never felt like they were hiding something. So far as anyone was concerned, there was nothing _to_ hide. Outside of those sexually-charged moments, they were just Finn Hudson and Kurt Hummel, the Jock and the Gay Kid from Glee Club, two unlikely friends who became stepbrothers. Nobody knew any different because they never behaved any different. It was like flipping a light switch between two different personalities, two different realities.

And then Finn dared to ask one night, "Where is this going?"

Even in the dim light coming through the window, he could sense Kurt's confusion as palpably as he could feel the boy's weight settled across his hips. "Where is what going?"

"This. This…thing we've been doing. Whatever it is," Finn answered. "Where is it going?"

There was a long pause. And then Kurt's voice was in his ear, sweet and seductive all at once.

"Wherever you want it to."

That was, now that Finn remembers, the first night they had what he would consider sex.

Like everything else up to that moment, it just seemed to happen on its own. If Kurt was even the least bit nervous, he never gave himself away in voice or manner. Where Finn trembled, Kurt was steady. He kept control. It was…

It wasn't what Finn expected. He thought it would hurt at first. It didn't. It felt awkward at first, sure, and the pressure of having first Kurt's fingers and then the firm thickness of his cock inside of him was initially uncomfortable, but it didn't really _hurt_ in any sense of the word. It was different. New. He was surprised that it actually felt…_good_, though it took the stroking of his own erection before he actually achieved any sort of orgasm. It felt good. And hearing Kurt whimper and moan, seeing flashes of his pleasured expressions captured in the sliver of streetlights coming through the window; that was good, too.

And maybe that's why that first time wasn't the last.

Though it probably should have been.


	2. From Our Lips, We Caused A Rift

_"We're at our worst when it's from our lips…  
_**_From our lips, we caused a rift,  
_**_And the world is falling in.  
From babble to ball room brawls,  
Our words have formed a death sentence.  
And I wish that we had never talked!  
Our hips said it all…"_

* * *

Finn remembers when their arrangement started to unravel. Kurt was still at Dalton, home from school on the weekends. It had been a while since the pair had been able to have any of their clandestine moments. On this particular weekend, they were both attending the usual Friday night family dinner when the name Blaine Anderson first surfaced. Blaine was another boy at Kurt's new school. Blaine understood some of what Kurt had gone through with Karofsky because he had experienced the same sort of harassment before finding his own measure of safety at Dalton. Blaine was one of the Warblers, the boarding school's glee club. Blaine was apparently their best singer, considering the number of solos he was given. Blaine was handsome, too, and charming, and surprisingly good at higher-level mathematics. Every time Kurt had doubts about fitting in, it was just a matter of talking to Blaine to remind him that it takes time to adjust to a new place.

Carole thought it was adorable and reassuring that Kurt had found a friend at his new school so quickly, especially one he could so closely confide in. Burt, ever protective of his only child, made concerned faces and asked questions in a tone that suggested he would be investing in a polygraph the minute he could find one on eBay.

For the most part, Finn sat silent. He smiled and nodded in agreement with his mother's words and chuckled at Burt's protectiveness, but he offered nothing of actual value to the conversation. He was too busy trying to figure out what the strange feeling in the pit of his gut was.

When he met Kurt's new friend for the first time at the Lima Bean, it was by chance. Finn was there with Rachel discussing a list of possible duets. It was Rachel who spotted the pair at the counter placing their order and it was Rachel (who was somehow blissfully unaware of how quickly Finn turned his head) who invited them over. Both boys were in their Dalton blues, standing so close together that Finn wondered if they were arm in arm. He surprised himself by being relieved when he realized they were not. The four of them sat together, sipping their drinks and catching up—which is to say that Kurt and Rachel caught up with Blaine occasionally answering a question while Finn just watched the scene unfold. To be honest, he spent most of the time getting a good look at this Blaine guy.

Handsome? Sure. Maybe in a general sense. He had the sort of features sought after in Hollywood.

Charming? Blaine seemed to have an answer for everything, offering it with such a casual air that Finn wondered how many times a day the kid practiced speaking to others in front of a mirror. It seemed to Finn that Rachel giggled and blushed any time the teenager paid her a compliment, and Blaine certainly had _Kurt's_ complete attention…

The nameless feeling that struck him during the family dinner crept back into the pit of his stomach—only this time, the feeling spread through him like winter frost through pipes. By the time they parted ways, with Kurt sending a message to his father through Finn that he was staying at Dalton over the weekend due to a study group, the feeling had a chokehold on his thoughts. He found himself wondering if a study group was _really_ the reason Kurt was spending the weekend at school—and then he found himself wondering why it even bothered him so much.

The concept of jealousy seemed much too ridiculous at the time. What was there to actually be jealous about? They weren't dating. There was no real romantic emotion to speak of between them! It was just…

It was the principle of the thing. That's what it was. It was about what was ethical with regards to common sense.

Occasionally screwing your stepbrother in secret wasn't exactly the _smartest_ idea, sure, but it wasn't exactly unethical.

Occasionally screwing him while possibly pursuing someone else, on the other hand…

But it wasn't like Finn had _evidence_ that Kurt was attracted to Blaine, and when Kurt came home the following weekend, he seemed more than content to give the taller boy the kind of kiss that shot heat through his entire body.

"Leave your door unlocked?"

By now the phrase was practically a command veiled as a question, spoken in such dulcet tones and with such promise of pleasurable things that Finn could only mumble agreement. Sitting through dinner that night was difficult. If either of the adults at the table noticed the way he could barely sit still or focus on the meal in front of him, they were at least polite enough not to ask why. Meanwhile, there across the table sat Kurt, completely calm and collected. He barely even _looked_ at Finn the entire time, spending most of dinner catching up with his dad.

And then Carole asked about Blaine.

Finn's memory frays when he tries to remember Kurt's response to Carole's innocent inquiry. In its place there is only the memory of feeling what he knows now to be an intense mix of envy and annoyance. Who cared? It wasn't important to know how Blaine was. _He_ wasn't important.

He remembers doing his best to remind Kurt who it was that knew how to get him off that night. He also remembers the sound of Kurt's tired laughter, floating up from where he lay flat on his back atop Finn's bed without a stitch of clothing on. Kurt's hips were spotted red from the needy press of the other boy's fingers. It was part of the reason, actually, that Kurt was laughing.

"Did you miss me that much?"

For some reason, the only thing Finn could think to say at the time was, "You weren't here last weekend."

"I was busy."

It was so matter-of-fact. So casual. Something about that cut through Finn's afterglow. Kurt sat up. He crossed the space between them on the bed on all fours, putting his face close enough to Finn's that they're noses nearly touched. There was nowhere else to look but into those blue eyes that seemed to read him with barely a glance. Not that Finn didn't _try_ to place his gaze elsewhere…

"Dude, I-I'm not—" Finn drew a breath in. "What's there to be jealous about?"

"You tell me," Kurt answered coyly. "But I bet his name starts with a B."

"There's nothing—" His protest was cut off by the nip of Kurt's teeth at his neck. "Kurt—"

"Mm?"

"Where is this going?"

"Wherever you want it to."

Finn could practically feel the words leaving their mark on his skin, sealed with Kurt's kisses. Any other time, the phrase was an invitation. It was like an inside joke by then. A secret code.

"I'm serious, Kurt."

"I knew it!" The paler boy drew back, triumph in his eyes. "You _are_ jealous of Blaine."

"I'm not—I just want to know—" Finn let out a frustrated huff. "I'm not jealous of him. You're here."

"Exactly." Kurt sounded pleased in the same way an owner is pleased when their pet follows a command. He stretched out on his side. "Do you want me to go for the night?"

That was the first time—and, so far as Finn remembers, the _only_ time—either of them was caught leaving the other's bedroom. That was also the first and only time Kurt fell asleep in Finn's bed afterward. It never happened the other way around.

Unfortunately, the subject would come up again. Not right away. For a while, things were as they had been from the start. The barrier between who they were around others and who they were together remained intact. Steady. Secure. Kurt staying through the weekend at Dalton once in a while gradually meshed into whatever routine existed. It was less and less a big deal. In his absence, Finn found himself paying attention to all the little signs Rachel was giving off that she was finally willing to date him. He approached it cautiously, not wanting the risk of causing trouble for himself. Still, Finn could not ignore the feeling of ease that came with spending time with her. It was easy. There weren't any silly rules to follow, spoken or unspoken. There was no need to switch between who he was with her and who he was with the rest of the world.

The first time they kissed, Finn felt something different, a fluttering in his chest of the kind that was never there when he kissed Kurt. There were sparks, sure, but it wasn't just physical. There was something emotional there. Love maybe, or the thing that came before it.

Which was all well and good, of course, except for that small quirk of occasionally fucking his stepbrother.

The subject resurfaced unbidden when Kurt came home from Dalton one weekend. Finn returned from an outing with Rachel—which could _hardly_ be considered an actual date by any standards since Mercedes and Artie were with them—to find Kurt lying on his bed, flipping through a magazine.

"You're home."

"There was nothing going on at Dalton this weekend." Kurt continued flipping through a magazine. "Dad and Carole are out at the movies. You weren't at dinner tonight."

Finn shrugged. "I was out."

"I know."

"You do?"

"Your mom told me." The magazine fell closed with barely a sound. Kurt sat up effortlessly. "How's Rachel?"

"Rachel?"

"Rachel Berry? I heard from a little bird you're seeing each other."

"Of course, we are. We're in glee club together." Finn meant it to be sarcastic but his tone was off. "It's not serious."

Kurt merely shrugged. "Am I supposed to be jealous?" He grew amused. "Would you like me to be?"

"Stop. It's not—it's just a couple dates."

"So you're not sleeping with her."

"No! I— No, Kurt. God—" Finn let out a short breath. "No. It's nothing like that."

"Then there's no problem." Kurt merely shrugged again. "Unless—"

And what cut him off was his phone ringing in his bedroom. He was gone, answering it. Finn watched him from the doorway, trying not to eavesdrop but finding it difficult when he realized Blaine was the caller.

"No, I'm at home for the weekend. Mm-hm, all weekend. I'm, uh, I'm catching up with my stepbrother Finn…" Kurt chuckled a little. "No, I—I thought that was— Wasn't that next weekend?" Over the long pause, his brow furrowed. "Are you—? That was tonight? Dammit! I'm sorry. I forgot. I'll have to make it up to you when I get back."

Something about the delivery of the line, the tone of Kurt's voice… The nameless uncomfortable feeling Finn had not felt in weeks came crawling back into his gut. What did Kurt forget? How was he going to make it up to Blaine? Finn's queries were casually brushed aside with vague answers involving extra rehearsals solely focused on making certain that Blaine never even _considered_ sounding off-pitch or out of tune. It sounded reasonable enough to quell the discomfort moving around inside for the moment, but in the wake of the fading afterglow, Finn's thoughts drifted back to those things he wished he could ignore. He found himself thinking of Rachel. Of Blaine. Of all the waiting and sneaking around just for a little bit of pleasure and release.

The unspoken rules.

The divides.

The nameless discomfort.

"Kurt—" Finn looked up at the boy straddled above him, trying to enjoy the fingertips gracing along his skin. "Kurt. Where is this going?"

"You and that question. It's not like I come built with GPS," Kurt answered.

"No, I-I—I know. I just… Where is this going? We've been at this…a couple months now. Where do you see this going?"

"You mean us."

The phrasing threw Finn off-guard. The way he was being looked at made him nervous. There was silence like the kind that preceded the first time they had sex but something about it felt different. Finn could almost feel Kurt closing up, closing off. Even now, in thinking about it, he would swear the room felt actually little…_colder_.

"I don't know. Nowhere."

The next day, Kurt had some excuse about needing to return to Dalton a day early. Something about forgetting a review packet for an important exam. The hug he gave Finn on the way out felt over too quick, empty of any sort of affection. There was no attempt to sneak in a kiss. In fact, there was a strange sort of vacancy in those large blue eyes that bothered Finn even well after the sound of the Escalade's engine gave way again to the neighborhood's normal sounds.

Kurt didn't come home the weekend that followed.

The second weekend, he only stayed long enough on Friday to have dinner with his family and fetch some pots of face cream from the vast collection on his vanity table.

The weekend after that, Kurt arrived early on Saturday with a sack full of laundry, complaining about the broken washing machine and how someone stole his detergent and fabric softener.

And through all of this, his interactions with Finn were cool at best, as if he were so busy with his life at Dalton that he had no time or energy left to put towards being the way he used to be with his stepbrother—which is to say, at the very _least_, happy to see him. During the weekdays, the chance to talk was reduced to phone calls or text messages. Finn found himself leaving more voice messages than he used to. By the fourth week, he could repeat Kurt's voice message greeting verbatim.

_"I'm Kurt Hummel and I'm not here. Leave me a message and I'll call back when I am."_

How many messages did Finn leave in those weeks? All of them pretty much saying the same thing.

_Call me._

_Talk to me._

_Pay attention to me._

Once in a while, he would get a call back or a text back, but even those lacked any sort of warmth. More often than not, it would go unanswered, and Finn would wonder just how busy Kurt was keeping himself at Dalton.

Then, seemingly out of the blue and after what felt like ages, Kurt came home for the entire weekend. But he did not arrive to that week's family dinner alone. Another boy was with him—a slightly shorter boy with slicked down black hair and the sort of handsome looks sought after in Hollywood. A boy who, as he politely introduced himself to the family, flashed the sort of smile some would call charming.

That was the first time Finn heard Kurt introduce Blaine Anderson as his boyfriend.

And that was the first time the uncomfortable feeling in Finn's gut registered as anger.


	3. You Want A Revelation

"_You want a revelation! You want to get right!  
__But it's a conversation I just can't have tonight!  
__**You want a revelation,  
**__**Some kind of resolution—**_

_Tell me what you want me to say…"_

* * *

The worst of what Finn remembers is the argument. By comparison, the dinner that came before it felt surreal in how calmly it went. Cheerful banter filled the dining room, punctuated now and then by laughter. Burt still cast protectively suspicious looks over in Blaine's direction, but on the whole, he seemed more approving of the boy than perhaps Kurt expected—swayed, perhaps, by the teenager's expressed interest in sports. Their dinner guest was _ever so polite_ to Finn's mother, complimenting nearly everything without even _once_ sounding facetious! Blaine even did his best to carry a conversation with Finn about balancing obligations to the football team and New Directions. Unfortunately, he found the taller boy to be much more reluctant to talk than anticipated, deferring to answers comprised of as few words as possible.

The behavior earned Finn questioning looks from his mother and from Kurt, but he surprised himself with how easy it was to ignore them. He was the first to excuse himself from the table, disappearing to his bedroom with some half-baked excuse about homework before desert could be fetched from the kitchen.

He tried, actually, for a little while to focus on a reading assignment for English class. Then he tried to focus instead on reviewing his playbook. When the sound of conversation and laughter drifted in from the living room, Finn did his best to drown it out with music. Nothing worked to stifle the anger burning in his stomach. No music could overpower the questions echoing inside his mind. How could this have happened? How long had it been going on? He remembered the weekend Kurt came home and spoke to Blaine on the phone, promising to make something up to him, and it only made Finn angrier. The idea, the very _notion_ of it—!

The almost funny thing about the argument itself was how they fought to keep their voices down even as they fought each other. Even at their worst they were still following their made-up rules…

It happened in Kurt's bedroom. Finn barged in, half-slamming the door behind him. Kurt was sitting at his vanity table, calmly preparing for his evening regimen.

"When were you gonna tell me?" Finn demanded.

Kurt kept arranging and opening jars. "I don't think I heard a knock before you came in. Have you forgotten that it's rude—?"

"_When_, Kurt? When were you gonna tell me about Blaine?"

"When were _you_ planning to tell me about Rachel?" Kurt turned and faced him now. "You don't think that's something worth telling me so I wouldn't have to find out from her?"

"What? I-I—" The taller boy shook his head. "No. No, this is—th-this is not about me, alright? It's about—"

"It is as much about you as it is me, Finn, or at least you seemed to think so a few weeks ago."

"What're you talking about?"

Kurt tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow. "Do I really need to remind you who was asking where this was going? 'This. This…thing we've been doing! Whatever it is!' You couldn't even bring yourself to call it what it was—"

"What was it then?"

"—and you _still_ wanted to know! Like maybe you expected I would always be around to get you off while you paraded around in public with Rachel Berry."

"At least I'm not bringing her home and showing her off to Burt and Carole! Kurt—" When Finn stepped forward, the other boy stepped back. "Kurt—"

"I'm not doing this anymore," Kurt told him firmly. "I'm done. _We're_ done. It's over."

"Why?" Finn demanded. "Are you sleeping with him, Kurt? Are you—_are you fucking him_?"

The shorter boy squared his shoulders and raised his chin, jaw clenched. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"_Kurt—_"

"We haven't."

"Then—"

"But we've talked about it. And I—I want to. Not because I'm in love with him, not yet, but—" Kurt dropped his gaze a little but his tone remained firm. "—but because I _could_ be. Because he gives me more than what you ever will."

The words felt like an accusation. Hadn't Finn given him what he wanted? Hadn't he risked getting caught…God only knows _how many times_ just to be with Kurt? Hadn't he made himself available enough, vulnerable enough? What fucking more could he have wanted?

"So…so what? You were using me?"

Kurt's head snapped up. There was a moment of anger in his eyes before a mocking smirk pulled at his lips. "You're one to talk, Finn. How many times did we go to Breadstix or Lima Bean with Rachel? How many times have you gone on dates with her while I'm here on the weekends? And every time, on the ride home, after she leaves—hell, even when she's still _sitting at the goddamn table_—you're giving me looks, you're dropping hints—"

"Oh, that's bullshit!"

"Is it?"

"_You're_ the one who said he didn't have a problem with her in the first place!"

"Because I thought—"

Kurt's voice cracked. The defiant visage wavered for just a second and he turned away to try and hide it, but in that moment, Finn realized a hundred obvious things he never noticed. Not just about the boy standing in front of him, but about himself, too.

"Kurt—" Finn can never recall moving close to him, only the feel of the smaller boy's shoulder under his hand. "Kurt, listen—"

But then the defiance returned, Kurt wrenching himself away with more roughness than necessary. When he looked at Finn again, there was a hardness in those blue eyes the taller boy was always so drawn to. Maybe the desire to see them soften with affection again is what prompted him to kiss Kurt with all the passion he could muster. Maybe it was the desire to show Kurt that whatever thoughts or feelings he had were valid; an urge to somehow show that there was a chance for whatever it was he hoped for, that Finn _could_, perhaps with time or…or _something_…

But it was fruitless. Kurt's lips were cold and did not press back. His eyes were open and held the same vacant look as when he left for Dalton weeks ago. It made Finn uncomfortable, like maybe he wasn't looking at the real Kurt but instead a statue. A wax figure. There was just nothing there. No blush or hint of emotion, no tears. Nothing.

"Get out, Finn."

That was it. That was how it ended. With those three soft words, it was done, and what could Finn have done except obey that last order? Plead his case, maybe. Beg. Try to make Kurt understand…what? What was there to understand? What could he _possibly_ have said to make the warmth come back into Kurt's eyes? The same warmth, Finn realized, that they now exuded around Blaine.

What could he have said, if anything?

He knew then, as he knows know, that there was at least something. One thing. Three little words. But would he have _meant_ it? Even as he fell asleep that night, numb and confused, Finn wasn't sure.

The next day, Kurt was nowhere to be found. Gone, back to Dalton to get some extra work time on a class project.

After that, he only visited on Friday nights for dinner or when Burt asked him to stay the weekend. On those occasions, the boys were always civil enough to each other, but it was never quite the same. Underneath Kurt's words and smiles there was a layer of frost that only melted rarely and in the briefest flashes, like when Finn got hurt playing football and they thought he had a concussion, or when Rachel cheated on him.

In a way, it almost felt like they were just following a different set of rules to replace the old ones.

It went on like that even after Kurt transferred back to McKinley. The only time they seemed to speak to each other was in the presence of others. When Blaine followed his heart and transferred, too, the pair spoke even less, but Finn found ways to show his displeasure. (True, it was petty in the face of Blaine being completely oblivious towards the fissure caused by his presence in their lives, but at the time, the consequences were ignored for the sake of seeking catharsis.) Kurt found quiet ways of getting revenge, ways that were less obvious but more damaging in some respects.

By the time graduation rolled around, Kurt was New York-bound, surprising everyone by choosing to attend the Fashion Institute of Technology when the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts decided it had no place for him among its ranks. Blaine, who put in the effort and dealt with the stress to graduate from high school early, was following him to pursue an ad hoc Arts and Theatre degree at Baruch College. Rachel was going away, too; her hopes pinned on becoming the next NYADA graduate to hit it big on Broadway.

And Finn? Finn was stuck in Lima for at least another year working in Burt's shop.

At the time, it felt like karma coming back on him for trying to punish Kurt through Blaine. The thought only served to make him bitter enough to be glad about seeing them both go. Out of sight, out of mind, and good riddance.

Maybe that's why Finn refused to open the envelope he found on his bed after returning from the airport—the one with his name written in Kurt's neat, blocky handwriting. Rather than open and read whatever parting message left behind for him by his stepbrother, Finn tossed it carelessly in one of the drawers of his dresser. Somewhere between the start of the semester and the first winter break, it vanished in the shuffle of mornings spent getting dressed and weekends spent doing laundry.

Kurt never asked about it when he came home for Christmas. Finn never brought it up.

It was forgotten completely by the time Kurt was gone again for the spring.

They never saw each other during the summer that followed because Kurt had a summer internship in New York City keeping him busy. Burt went up to see him and returned with souvenirs and stories told in a tone full of paternal pride.

It was in the middle of the second fall of Kurt's absence that Finn heard about his stepbrother's breakup with Blaine—from Rachel, of all people. It was, apparently, messy. Emotional. Possibly permanent. When he came home from New York that Christmas, Kurt looked lonelier, but refused to talk about it.

By the second spring, they were on the mend.

By summer…

The second summer of Kurt's absence was when Finn received a new envelope, one that made him remember about the one that sat on his bed after Kurt left Lima the first time—the one Finn never opened and eventually lost.

He opened this one.

The first thing he saw was an elegant wedding invitation with a December date written on it.

The second thing was a letter, written in that neat, blocky handwriting that was still so very familiar to him.

_Dear Finn,_

_I know how horribly cliché this is, waiting until now to write you another letter. I'm not even sure you'll see this one. But maybe some of Blaine's cheerful optimism is finally sinking in. Or maybe I finally just miss you and the relationship we used to have terribly enough to warrant trying to get in touch with you. In any case, now is better than later, isn't it? It's been a long time since we last truly talked._

_If Rachel or Dad hasn't already let it slip, Blaine and I are getting married here in December. It would really mean a lot to me to have my entire family there. That means you, too, although I suppose I would understand if you couldn't make it. After all, the last time we really talked, it wasn't on the best terms._

_The truth is, Finn, that I do miss you. I miss our friendship. Part of the reason it's gone is because I did things that weren't fair to you. But I want to try and make things right between us._

_We may not be able to go back to the way things were before, but maybe we can start over._

_- Kurt_

It was the closest in the years since the argument that either of them had come to even addressing what happened. How long had it been? A year? Two?

Finn surprised himself realizing it had been slightly over three years.

_Three-and-a-half_, to be specific.

Three-and-a-half years of following awkward, unspoken rules. Of not talking. Of only talking when they had to, in the presence of family and friends, so that no one assumed something was greatly amiss. Three-and-a-half years of making up excuses as for why they are no longer close or why they no longer talk. Three-and-a-half years of cold looks, of silence.

Now here existed a chance to end that.

Finn thought of Kurt's eyes, of how genuine happiness made them sparkle as the outer corners crinkled under the force of a smile. He thought of Kurt's voice, of the way genuine happiness always made him sound relieved. He thought of the possibility that he might get to see and hear both again.

And then Finn picked up the phone, and he dialed the number written for him at the bottom of the letter.


	4. There's Still Time to Start Again

"_Everybody hopes…  
__That love is like a prairie fire  
__That sweeps across the field, consumin' it all.  
__Everybody hopes…  
__That love will never fade or flicker  
__That it's pure as the air we breathe…_

_We've made mistakes that we can't change,  
__**But there's still time to start again.**"_

* * *

_Finn Hudson stands alone on a hotel balcony overlooking Manhattan. The cold air reddens his cheeks and makes his eyes water each time a breeze blows by, but years of living through Ohio winters have left him prepared to endure being out here long enough to enjoy the breathtaking view. Below him, the lights of the city's skyscrapers and streets sparkle like diamonds in the evening, outshining the stars in the sky. Occasionally, the sound of a blaring car horn drifts upward, barely the ghost of an echo by the time it reaches the balcony. For some reason, it makes Finn smile a little. No doubt, on the world far below, people are dealing with the struggles of living in a snowy place; enduring slippery roads and sidewalks, the pileup of snow blocking entrances and exits, frozen car batteries and frosted windshields. These are things Finn knows about all too well, and though he knows none of the people struggling against winter down there, he sends them his sympathy even as it makes being up here feel a touch surreal, like being in an ivory tower or a palace of some kind. Any other time, the thought would strike him as strange. Not tonight. Though not exactly a royal ball, a stranger with the fortune of stumbling into the ballroom inside could be forgiven for assuming as much from the elegance of the décor. The deep maroons and rich golds, the strings of pearls, the chandeliers, the roses… Even the guests of honor would have confused the stranger, being dressed like princes._

_Such a thing is to be expected when one of the grooms took some of his decorating cues from fairytales and British royalty._

_The champagne glass Finn hijacked from a passing server chills him to the core as he downs half the contents. Rachel would frown at him for doing such a thing, but Rachel isn't here. She, like all the other sensible guests, is inside. Perhaps she is talking with the other girls, catching up with them and telling them stories of life at NYADA (dominating the conversation whether she intends to or not). It is entirely possible that she is eyeing all of the decorations and taking personal notes. She seemed fairly envious of the elaborately decorated cake when they entered the reception, though she wondered aloud (at least to Finn) about the use of tuxedo-wearing, vintage toy robots for the cake topper and place card holders._

_Maybe she is dancing with one of the other guests._

_One of the grooms, possibly._

_His stepbrother, perhaps._

_Finn downs the rest of the champagne in his glass and shivers. With no tables, the empty glass goes on top of the balcony's railing. A single nudge; that's all it would take to send it tumbling to the world below. For a boy his size—pretty much a man, really—much more effort would be required. He would have to climb onto the railing first, which would perhaps require going inside and discreetly dragging out a chair to make the work easier, and then, once he was certain the chair would hold his standing weight in the first place…_

_He has no plans to kill himself. Certainly not now, when he should be at his happiest—and, truth be told, he _is_ quite happy. Happier than he expected he would be, at least, given the circumstances. He is glad that he made the trip, glad that he made the phone call that made said trip possible in the first place. Talking to Kurt again, _really_ talking to him, for the first time in three-and-a-half years… It felt natural. Things just fell into place between them so easily, so readily, that it was almost as if they never stopped talking in the first place._

_Even when the conversation turned to the past, it felt like they were finally having the conversation they should have had a long time ago._

_Being there in person with him was a little more difficult, a little more awkward. Embraces were too brief. Silences felt uncomfortable, to the point of feeling like there needed to be things to talk about in order to avoid them. The rehearsal dinner last night was the first sign that even that awkwardness was finally retreating._

_Then again, anything is easier after a glass of wine or two._

"_Y'know, if you stay out here any longer, you're setting yourself up to get frostbite."_

_The voice startles Finn into turning around. It is only Blaine, smiling his charming smile as he walks towards the taller boy, now officially his new brother-in-law. He really does look like a prince out of some fairytale, complete with a crown of yellow roses tinged red near the tips of the petals. They were Kurt's idea. (Well, the whole _wedding_ was Kurt's idea—the decorating of it, anyway—except for the robots. The little robot place card holders and cake topper were Blaine's idea, and he had to negotiate rather hard for those, or so Finn's stepbrother recounted earlier in the evening.) The closer Blaine gets, the more obvious their difference in height becomes, making Finn wonder if he ever did manage to grow even an inch taller than he was when they were in high school together._

"_I'm willing to risk it."_

"_And miss the party inside?" The smile fades only a little bit. Blaine jerks his head towards the double-doors leading into the ballroom. "Kurt was looking for you."_

"_Hm?"_

"_Said something about a speech?"_

"_Oh." The air rushes out in a sigh. A sheepish look crosses Finn's features. "I said that— He remembered that, huh?"_

"_Mm-hm."_

"_I didn't write anything. I mean, I tried, but I—I-I'm not really that good at…words and stuff. Putting together speeches or anything—"_

"_You didn't let that stop you in high school. You were always pretty good at them, Finn. Better than you realized, maybe."_

"_That was then," Finn answers. His gaze drifts out towards the city beyond the balcony. "That was… Well, it feels like a long time ago, I mean, even though it was only…what, three years ago? Four?"_

"_Something like that."_

"_Yeah."_

_A strange silence settles between them. Blaine is clearly cold without the protection of an added winter coat like the kind Finn has covering his suit, but why he merely does not go back inside (or even suggest that they _both_ go inside)… It makes Finn wonder if there might be another reason the younger man is outside with him. It makes him think of the way he used to treat Blaine in high school, the little ways he used to single him out, pick on him, shoot down or just ignore every offering of ideas until someone else brought them up. Not that Blaine has brought any of that up during the visit so far. He has been surprisingly…nice. Almost overwhelmingly so._

_They both start to talk at the same time, following with a pileup of apologies. Finn clears his throat, tells Blaine to go first. From the way Blaine draws in a breath, the taller young man prepares to hear words the shorter one has likely wanted to say to him for years._

"_Look, Finn…I-I don't really know why you and Kurt stopped talking for the last few years. He never said, and I never felt it was my business to ask, but…I mean, I know how much it bothered him, not having you to talk to. He would never really admit it, but he would ask about you to Burt or to Rachel. He kept tabs on your successes, like when you took up managing that kids' football team?"_

"_Yeah—"_

"_He kept—he'd have your mom send him newspaper cut-outs from when you guys won games and he, uh, he keeps them in a little scrapbook in his desk. He's really proud of you, Finn."_

"_Really?" The sound he makes when Blaine nods is somewhere between a chuckle and a surprised gasp. "I never… I-I didn't think he even really… Proud of me?"_

"_That's why I made him write you that letter. I mean, it was easier to convince him on the robots than it was to get back in touch with you, because you and I both know how stubborn he can be—"_

_Finn chuckles again. "That's being polite—"_

"_But I knew—I mean—I had this feeling in my heart that if he let this day go by without you, he'd regret it. And maybe he'd tell himself that he didn't, but…I mean, it's Kurt and it—it's you. When he was at Dalton those first few months, all he'd talk about was you and wondering how you were."_

"_He did that?"_

"_Sometimes, it even got a little irritating," Blaine admits. His expression softens. "I'm glad you came, Finn."_

"_I'm glad I did, too." Finn smiles a little. "And I— Listen, Blaine… I know it's…it's been a few years, but I—I just wanted to apologize."_

"_For what?" asks Blaine._

"_For being a dick to you in high school. I think maybe I was jealous or…" Finn shakes his head. "You make him happy, and I'm glad he's found someone who does."_

_Blaine's brown eyes light up with a new smile. A handshake turns into a hug with assurance of forgiveness for old slights long since forgotten. It feels good. Like closure, perhaps._

"_There you two are!"_

_Well, _almost_ like closure._

"_An entire ballroom full of people, food, and music, and you two choose to spend your time outside in the middle of a New York winter." Kurt nears them, no coat hiding the splendor of his princely wedding suit. "What could possibly be more interesting out there than what's going on in there?"_

"_I was looking for him—" Blaine points in Finn's direction. "—like you told me to."_

_Kurt crosses his arms and looks up at Finn. "And you?"_

"_I was just…thinking. Came out to think. Got a little lost, I guess," Finn answers. "Good thing Blaine found me."_

"_Yes indeed, because I do believe _someone_ promised at last night's rehearsal dinner that they would be making a speech at the reception. And since it is the reception—"_

"_Oh, no. Kurt. I—I didn't—"_

"_Oh, no, no. No excuses. I've already announced it." And crossing the distance, Kurt takes the protesting taller boy by the arm and half-drags him back towards the ballroom. "You're not making me look bad, Finn Hudson."_

"_But Kurt—"_

"_If you put this off any longer, Rachel Berry is going to turn my reception into a search and rescue mission and I _refuse_ to take that chance. Not after I already caught her interrogating my assistant wedding planner."_

"_I—"_

_Fruitless. The protesting, the arguing against it, the struggling; all of it is fruitless. Kurt is stubborn. Always has been. Taking "no" for an answer is simply not in his DNA. Somehow, knowing that part of him has not changed only adds to the feeling sparked by burying the old hatchet with Blaine. Now if only it would help Finn come up with something speech-worthy…_

"_I found him!" Kurt's voice rings out with genuine cheer. The other guests clap, their eyes following as he continues to half-drag Finn up to the stage where the band is set up. The newly-married young man parks his stepbrother in front of the microphone. "You're up. Floor's all yours."_

_Finn clears his throat. He searches for words as he removes his coat. He opens his mouth to speak, closes it, then gestures for Rachel to come forward and take the coat from him. Another moment to clear his throat. One more to fix his hair. Finally, he turns to the microphone. He tries not to think about the many pairs of eyes watching him. Instead, Finn's gaze drifts to the familiar faces he is able to spot in the crowd. Mercedes. Sam. Artie. Tina and Mike are at a table with a few of the former Warblers. Puck is here with Quinn, standing near Emma and Mr. Schue. Santana and Brittany are near the table with the cake. Burt and his mother are sitting at a table with Blaine's parents, and the newlyweds themselves are…_

_Standing right in front of him. Arm-in-arm. Waiting._

_Finn clears his throat again. He takes in a breath, takes hold of the microphone._

"_Uh…hi. Most of you kind of already know who I am, but I—" He chuckles nervously. "You'll have to excuse me. I haven't been on a stage like this since our glee club won Nationals in high school."_

_The crowd laughs. Even Kurt looks genuinely amused. It eases some of the tension. Finn stands a little straighter._

"_Anyway. I-I'm Finn. Kurt's my brother, and he's…kind of put me on the spot here. I'm gonna do my best, but if I screw up here, you know who to blame." Another breath in while chuckles ripple through the ballroom. "In all seriousness, we're all here because—well, _I'm_ here to celebrate that Kurt found somebody who makes him happy. Someone who loves him unconditionally." Finn gestures down at the pair. "Blaine. When I first met you, we weren't exactly the best of friends. Now, today, we're family. To be honest, I'm glad that it's you. I couldn't see it being anyone else. You've already been with Kurt through a lot. Through ups and downs, moving, schools, deadlines, pressure… You've been there for him even when some of us couldn't be._

"_Kurt… Kurt, you're one of the most important people in my life. You taught me so much about not being afraid to go after what I want and about living without apologizing for who I am. I haven't been as good at putting them to practice as you have, but…at the same time, I don't know what kind of man I would've become without you._

"_No matter what happens or where we go from here, I still got your back, Kurt. Because we're family, and from that, there is one more thing you've taught me. It's important that the ones you care about know how much they mean to you, and there's no shame in saying you love someone if you really mean it, and I…"_

_The emotion catches him off guard. Finn swallows and it only seems to make the lump forming in his throat grow larger. Tears threaten to escape if he goes further, but it's a risk he is willing to take. He draws in a breath._

"_Kurt, I love you. I want only the best for you, because you deserve it. Because you've earned more than your share of happiness." He tries not to sniffle and fails. "And, um, well…judging from how we're all here today, I'd say you're off to a pretty good start with getting it. So, before the wedding cameraman records me crying like a baby for all eternity, if, uh, if those of you with glasses could raise them please…"_

_Those filling the ballroom do so. One of the musicians from the band brings Finn another full glass of champagne for him to lift for the toast. He catches Kurt looking up at him as he does, and the genuine warmth in his blue eyes as they lock gazes makes Finn's heart tighten. There it is. The thing he has wanted to see again since it vanished the night they fought, and with it, there is another piece of closure._

"_To Kurt and Blaine."_

_The crowd offers their toast to the happy couple. Finn makes his way off stage, wiping his eyes as discreetly as possible. Someone calls his name. He barely has time to turn before he feels someone crash into him, their arms wrapping around his shoulders in a tight hug devoid of awkwardness. The smell of roses hits his nose and he knows it to be one of the newlyweds. Knowing which one it is in particular is only easy to because of the past, because of what will never be again. But sometimes, it really is like they say. Sometimes, when something ends, it is so that something new can begin._

"_Thank you, Finn. Thank you…"_

_And sometimes, when something ends, it merely changes into something better._

"_I mean it." Finn pulls away slightly. "Every word. I want you to be happy because I love you, and if this makes you happy—if Blaine makes you happy—then I can be happy, too, because I'd rather be in your life than bitter."_

_Kurt smiles at him in the same way that he used to before. He lifts what remains of the champagne in his glass. "To new beginnings, then, and to starting over."_

_Finn can certainly toast to that._


End file.
